


with these feelings i'll forget

by allyasavestheday



Series: les mis tumblr prompts [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 10:08:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14566731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyasavestheday/pseuds/allyasavestheday
Summary: Dropping his loose hook on Grantaire’s wrist, Enjolras looks down and takes a half step back. “I don’t want you to think I’m being presumptuous, offering you to stay—"“I wouldn’t presume!” Grantaire says quickly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I know you don’t, what you feel for me isn’t—“ he cuts himself off at the horror dawning across Enjolras’ features.“You know about that?” he asks quietly.Grantaire laughs, bitter and low, and Enjolras takes another step back, hurt flickering in his eyes. “I think everyone knows how you feel about me, Enjolras.”





	with these feelings i'll forget

**Author's Note:**

> PLANTPANTY requested: nnnnnnd e/r #13 :)
> 
> #13 this wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 a.m. and I should really go home.
> 
> originally posted to [tumblr](http://g-taire.tumblr.com/post/148381366823/nnnnnnd-er-13)
> 
> title comes from ed sheeran's "kiss me"

Their friends left hours ago.

Grantaire doesn’t think it is actually _hours_ , as in plural with an s, until he happens to glance at the clock and realize that’s not the big hand hovering between the two and the three, it’s the little one, and the big hand is steadily making its way towards the eight.

“Fuck, is that the time?” He hates analogue clocks and pulls out his phone, 02:37 flashing up at him.

Enjolras starts as if from a reverie, craning his neck around to look at the clock. When he turns back to face Grantaire, there’s a flush creeping up his cheeks, and he smiles sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“No, no!” Grantaire flaps his hand quickly, “I was having fun, I didn’t even notice!”

The smile Enjolras gives him widens a little, and then becomes small, but his eyes remain crinkled up and warm. “Me too,” he says, and looks down at his hands curled in his lap.

They started out on opposite ends of the couch, but over the past few hours have gravitated towards the middle, legs drawn up to their chests or leaning against the back of the couch, their knees brushing when they shift positions, and Grantaire tries not to show how much of a thrill it sends through him every time they do.

He should have noticed how long he’s been here when Enjolras offered him tea (“It’s too late for coffee, we’ll never sleep,” and Grantaire ignored the ‘we’ as best he could, which wasn’t very well.) and Enjolras’ fingers pressed his when he handed him his mug, or when Enjolras brought out his glasses, rubbing his eyes, exhausted, but not willing to end the debate they were having. It hadn’t even been a debate, more friendly banter and pulling up sources, laughing when they were proven horrifically incorrect.

Or maybe he should have noticed when Enjolras’ head drooped while he talked, his temple resting against the back of the couch, and he looked so sleepy like that, curled into his large sweater — which he must have changed into at some point, another point Grantaire should have noticed — that Grantaire lowered his voice on instinct, not wanting to disturb the tranquil quiet they’d established.

There were a lot of moments, details, where Grantaire should have noticed how late it’d gotten.

Grantaire tries to think, whether there had been a good time he should have made his leave, but all he can remember is Enjolras throwing his head back with a laugh, or handing him another cup of tea like they did this all the time, or the way his eyes followed Grantaire’s gestures, attentive and interested.

“I should go,” he says.

Enjolras nods, “Yeah,” but neither of them move to get up.

Enjolras is looking at him, head cocked to the side, gaze steady, and Grantaire feels a little bit like one of Combeferre’s moths, pinned to the board, except there is nothing deadly about Enjolras’ pin, more mild curiosity. Grantaire raises his brows in question, and after a moment, Enjolras smiles softly.

The expression makes his chest constrict, and he blinks away, setting his empty mug on the side table harder than he intended. He thinks it’s unfair, Enjolras looking at him like that, warm and soft and relaxed, so unaffected. A part of him wishes he wouldn’t, but then Grantaire remembers the way they sometimes look at each other, hard and hurt and isn’t sure which he prefers. At least when Enjolras is telling him off, he knows where he stands.

But when Enjolras is looking at him like that, languid and inviting, Grantaire isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do.

“I should go,” he says again. It’s too late, he can’t over step boundaries, not like this.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras starts and pauses, and Grantaire’s eyes squeeze shut, not sure what he’s hoping for. “It’s late,” he finally finishes.

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I should —“

“Your flat is ages away, the buses aren’t running at this hour.” Enjolras sounds sure, but there’s an edge to his words that Grantaire can’t place.

He shrugs, “It’s fine, I’ve walked home further, later.” He gets to his feet

Enjolras scrambles to get off the couch, and he holds out a hand, like he is going to grab Grantaire’s sleeve and thinks better of it. Grantaire looks up at him. His brows have pulled together, faint blonde on brown skin, and there’s a frustrated edge to his frown, but not in the usual way.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he says. “I meant, you could— you could stay. Here.” Color flushes up to the roots of his golden hair.

Blood rushes in Grantaire’s ears, and he’s sure his face has gone numb with his hands. His lips move, and he blinks, staring at Enjolras, dumb with shock, before he shakes his head, rather more violently than he planned, but nonetheless, “No, no, no, it’s fine, it’s okay, I’m fine, really. I don’t want to impose.” God _why_ did he add that last part, it’s practically begging for—

“I don’t mind.” That.

Enjolras’ expression has become blank in a familiar way, like he isn’t offering Grantaire to stay the night, but humoring him in debate. It’s an expression Grantaire has learned means he’s trying desperately to not care what his response is going to be. It makes him look younger, Grantaire thinks. His heart aches to see it directed at him now.

He wants to stay. He has no presumptions that it’d be in Enjolras’ bed, he knows the couch to be perfectly comfortable. The thought of waking up in the morning in Enjolras’ apartment, maybe sipping coffee in the early morning light — no, it’s too much.

“Thanks, but it’s fine.” He tries to pass Enjolras not looking at him, but this time the tentative hand falls on his wrist. It’s a loose grip, Enjolras’ cool fingers barely wrapping around his arm, but the intent is there.

Grantaire looks up at Enjolras now, and there is something like worry in the knot of his brow. “Grantaire, is something wrong?”

“No, no—“

“I don’t want to press, or make you— you uncomfortable,” Enjolras says, his voice dropping off at the end, uncertain.

Grantaire blinks, “How would you make me uncomfortable?”

Dropping his loose hook on Grantaire’s wrist, Enjolras looks down and takes a half step back. “I don’t want you to think I’m being presumptuous, offering you to stay—" 

“I wouldn’t presume!” Grantaire says quickly. “I don’t want to make _you_ uncomfortable, I know you don’t, what you feel for me isn’t—“ he cuts himself off at the horror dawning across Enjolras’ features.

“You know about that?” he asks quietly.

Grantaire laughs, bitter and low, and Enjolras takes another step back, hurt flickering in his eyes. “I think everyone knows how you feel about me, Enjolras.”

Enjolras’ throat bobs as he swallows. “Right.” His words are almost gone, and Grantaire can’t figure out why that is, he’s got nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s Grantaire who should be melting into the floor with humiliation. After all, he’s the one with the unrequited crush, he’s the one being let down easy or whatever the hell he’s doing to himself right now.

“I think we should just be friends!” Grantaire tries, bright. “I had an amazing time tonight, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Enjolras just nods, and — did his lip just tremble?

Out of his depth, unwilling to dig himself deeper into this hellpit of a grave, Grantaire clears his throat. “I— I should go.”

“Yeah.” Enjolras’ voice is hoarse, but the word is firm. Grantaire peers at him curiously; there’s no way he’s taking Grantaire’s crush that hard. Enjolras avoids his eye, and Grantaire feels like their relationship has just taken a thousand steps back. He knew this was going to happen.

He’s at the door, slowly pulling on his coat when he turns to Enjolras, keeping his distance nearly still in the tiny living room. “Enjolras, I’m sorry,” he says. Enjolras' chin juts up defensively, but Grantaire can see him gripping the sleeve of his baggy sweater, even as he tries, for reasons Grantaire still cannot grasp, to appear unaffected. 

Enjolras shrugs. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, I just, I feel awful—“

“There’s nothing to feel awful about!” Enjolras snaps, voice raising, silencing Grantaire. “You don’t feel the same as me, I can not and will not hold that over you.”

“No, I know, I just want you to know that I still really respect you, and this doesn’t change anything.”

Enjolras eyes flutter closed. “Grantaire, please.”

He sounds _heartbroken_.

Grantaire can't help it, his idiot mouth won't let him. “Why are you taking this so hard?” he asks, two parts curious, one part annoyed. _He’s_ the one who should be upset, except that he came to terms with Enjolras never returning his feelings age ago. It doesn’t mean it hurts any less, but he’s able to hold it together until he gets home.

Blue eyes flash open, angry and hurt. “I’m sorry, how do you want me to be taking this?” The tremor still runs strong through his voice, but he’s gone steely and cold.

“You’re acting like I broke up with you, not like I admitted I have _feelings_ for you, if anyone should be upset it’s me—“

“What.”

“What?”

Enjolras is shaking his head, “What did you just say?”

“Do you want to rub it in? I have feelings for you, we’ve been talking about it—“ Enjolras looks like he’s about to cry, but he’s smiling and laughing. Grantaire would really like an explanation. “I— What’s happening.” It’s not even a question, it’s a flat resignation to rejection.

Enjolras is still laughing shakily, and he takes a tentative step towards Grantaire. “When you said you knew how I felt about you—“

“I know, you tolerate my presence, I get it—“

“—You were _wrong.”_ Grantaire stops talking. Enjolras is smiling again, though he bites his bottom lip, still nervous. “I was saying I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable because _I like you_. A lot.”

The pieces fall into place, Enjolras' reaction finally making sense. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” The shaky laugh is back. Enjolras takes another step towards Grantaire, this one more confident, and another. “So with that cleared up…” 

He’s very close now, and it’s instinct more than anything else that has Grantaire tipping his chin up to meet Enjolras half way, meeting in the softest press of lips.

There is nothing exceptional about the kiss except for the fact that it happens. And yet it sets something alight in Grantaire, something hot and cold at once, flickering against his sternum and beating in time with his rabbiting pulse. 

Enjolras is careful, keeping the pressure light enough that Grantaire wants to push up on his toes and deepen the kiss. He follows Enjolras’ lead though, and doesn’t push things too fast, the tentative space they’ve carved out of the universe fragile and tremulous.

After a moment, Enjolras pulls away, blinking slowly. “Okay?” he asks. Grantaire nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Enjolras leans down and presses another, firmer kiss to Grantaire’s mouth, and this time Grantaire lets himself explore a little more, mouth sliding against Enjolras’ easily, curious. His lips are chapped from the autumn dryness, but they’re pliant and soft, and they’re on Grantaire’s and that’s all that matters to him. His hands fist in the fabric of Enjolras' sweater, too unsure of boundaries to bring them any closer. With a noise Grantaire would recognize anywhere as humored impatience, Enjolras brings his hand to the back of Grantaire's neck to deepen the kiss further. Grantaire grins, settling his hand more firmly at Enjolras' waist.

When they break apart, Enjolras is smiling. “Do you still not want to stay the night?”

At Grantaire’s hesitation — he doesn’t want to ruin whatever this is, and he wants to tell Enjolras this, that he’s ruins everything he touches with his bloody, paint stained hands and he doesn’t want to ruin this one good thing — Enjolras adds, “Just sleeping.”

The promise solidifies the quiet hope that has settled in the base of his ribcage like a purring cat, curled up and content. “Sure," he says, a little breathless. "I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments/critique are greatly appreciated :) 
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [girlionceknew](http://girlionceknew.tumblr.com) and [g-taire](http://g-taire.tumblr.com). Come say hi!


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